


begging for you to take my hand

by Dragonstar19, Seastorm25 (RockStarFish)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Divine Pulse (Fire Emblem), Divine Pulse Angst (Fire Emblem), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Roleplay, Temporary Character Death, They/Them Pronouns for My Unit | Byleth, more or less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonstar19/pseuds/Dragonstar19, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockStarFish/pseuds/Seastorm25
Summary: “Sylvain,” Felix said again, louder, “Y-You can’t die.” His voice broke, but he was beyond giving a damn. “You… You promised. Goddess-dammit, you promised.”Something clicked inside of him. Sylvain blinked once, twice, and the person in front of him came into clarity."Felix." Sylvain lifted a hand to cradle Felix's cheek, gently moving his thumb to brush a stray strand of hair out of Felix's face. He attempted a half smile, but even lifting the corners of his mouth was tiring. "Heh... I know. I'm sorry. I always end up breaking all my promises, don't I? The one promise I intended to keep... Sorry, Fe. You're gonna have to go on without me."“You can’t just say that,” Felix snarled, sliding his hands down from Sylvain’s jaw to his collar. His armour was hard and much colder than his skin. “You have to live, or I swear to the Goddess, I’ll bring you back to life and kill you again myself.”Felix had to know what this was. If it was just delirium making Sylvain act the way he was, or if he actually… if he actually loved him.Or: Felix has to watch Sylvain die on Gronder Field—but then time rewinds, and Sylvain survives the battle. Queue Felix struggling with big, complicated emotions.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this is an advanced literate roleplay between Ash, or Dragonstar; and me, Seastorm; formatted for AO3 and posted without any other alterations. It starts with Sylvain's POV, and switches with every double space. It might be a tad jarring, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!
> 
> This will certainly have at least one more part, but I can't say when it'll be ready. Our roleplay is ongoing!
> 
> \- Seastorm

Sylvain stumbled around Gronder Field on foot, fending off enemies left and right. The battle was well, to say the least, a shitshow. Even that didn't seem adequate enough to describe it. Three armies had converged, all clashing against each other. The air was filled with screeches of steel, and an acrid stench of blood, sweat, and ash. It was complete and utter chaos; no one could tell who was fighting who anymore, they only knew that they had to kill the enemy in front of them. His troops. His classmates. His friends. Sylvain watched one by one as they were struck down.

Smoke clouded the air, coming from the fires in the middle of the field after Edelgard has set the hill alight, along with the Kingdom's soldiers and her own. His eyes stung from the fumes and his lungs burned from every breath he took, filling with ash. He'd lost track of where everyone else was a long time ago. All he could do was keep on blindly fighting, one enemy after another, until the day there were none left.

One hand clutching his stomach to keep his guts from spilling out, he thrust out his other, casting another fire spell. The first soldier dodged. The other one was not so lucky. It hit his pursuer square in the face. He went down. The other lashed out with his blade. Sylvain, with limbs feeling laden with lead, stumbled as he tried to dodge. He wasn't fast enough. He didn't feel the pain, only the cold and chilling sensation of metal slicing through his arm.

Sylvain blasted a fireball point blank at the soldier, who didn't have enough time to get out of the way. The imperial soldier fell, and Sylvain ignored his screams from the burns. He continued forwards, barely able to stand straight. Sylvain grit his teeth. He could do it. Just put one foot in front of the other. 

Rinse and repeat.

His great black stallion, Bergamot, had already fallen earlier, struck by multiple arrows to the flank and a sword to its front leg. Sylvain felt like his heart had been pierced too. Bergamot had been his steadfast companion for over three years, his steed for all of his battles, accompanying him in every fight. But with a broken leg, the horse was as good as dead. Sylvain had stroked his horse gently, trying to soothe it's frantic whinnies before putting him out of his misery in one swift strike. 

Continuing on foot, it hadn't been long before Sylvain started to be overwhelmed. His lance was gone. That didn't help either. He wasn't quite sure when he'd lost it. He knew it was after Bergamot died, but before he'd taken a sword deep to the stomach, unable to block it without a weapon.

Back in the present, Sylvain finally made it to a small outcropping of trees. He collapsed against a large oak, tilting his head up and letting himself breathe. Around him, the sounds of the battle began to dim. All the screams and harsh sounds of metal clashing against metal sounded so far away now. The only thing he could feel was pain. The pain was constant, inescapable. His crimson stained fingers did nothing to staunch the bleeding. Ah... he guessed that this was the day he died.

When the wooden platform in the center of Gronder Field caught fire, Felix had been at the base of the steps, about to launch a Thoron at Bernadetta. They had been acquainted at the Academy; well enough for Felix to know she was probably here to be away from her family, rather than out of a sense of duty like him. Being forced to kill his shy former classmate would have been terrible enough, but seeing the arrows that lit the platform on fire had come from Empire soldiers was horrific and infuriating.

“Fall back!” he called out hurriedly to his battalion, but who knew if his troops could hear him? The chaos was only growing the longer this battle went on, and it was entirely possible that at this point Felix had been left alone entirely. Smoke was rising in enormous plumes, causing his eyes to water. All he could do was aim for the enemies directly around him. He wasn’t sure when the Alliance became their enemy, but here they were, trying to cut Felix down. Therefore, red and yellow uniforms equalled opponents to cut down.

This deadly dance—dodging or deflecting attacks, then finding people’s weaknesses in order to retaliate—eventually led him far from the center of the battlefield. His entire battalion had either died or lost sight of him. At least he himself was fine, save for some minor scrapes and gashes.

Before he refocused on the conflict, he needed to find a weapon. He had brought along several, as he did to every battle; however, he’d either lost or broken every single one. At least it shouldn’t be hard to find one he could use. There were so many bodies strewn across the field that the grass and dirt was barely visible. He was currently surrounded by horses and cavalrymen, which meant it would be easier to find a lance than a sword. The horse he was currently standing on had some fancy armour, but no extra weapons stocked. He almost moved on, but— wait.

Felix _knew_ that armour. He knew this _horse._

He scrambled off the animal and kneeled on the ground to take a closer look. There was no mistaking it: this was Sylvain’s steed. He had been killed with a stab straight in the heart, which meant Sylvain had most likely put him out of his misery. _The empathetic idiot,_ Felix thought with a wry smile and a pang of sorrow.

He grabbed a lance from a random Empire soldier and stood up again. If Sylvain was here, he would have noticed—he was always looking out for that shock of red hair, and none of these soldiers had that trait. Felix needed to find him.

He made his way over bodies as quickly as he could. There was a vague trail of them leading into the forest (he avoided thinking about the morbidity of that), and the closer he got, the louder that sounds of fighting grew.

There. Against a tree. Sylvain was on the ground, nearby Alliance soldiers engaged with the Empire. Shit, he obviously wasn’t in good condition.

Felix was able to surprise them all, taking out the Empire troops before they could muster a proper retaliation. A glare at the Alliance soldiers was enough to get them to leave him be as he knelt by Sylvain’s side. Whether due to pity, gratitude, fear of his prowess, or indifference, Felix didn’t care.

What mattered was that Sylvain had not one, but _two_ holes in his stomach, and he was becoming paler by the second.

“Sylvain,” he hissed, taking the man’s face in his hands. He was still breathing. But he wouldn’t be for much longer, Felix could tell.

He growled in frustration towards himself—despite Mercedes’ best efforts, he had never taken to white magic—and attempted a heal spell. The difference was negligible at best. Fuck.

“Sylvain,” he said again, louder, “Y-You can’t die.” His voice broke, but he was beyond giving a damn. “You… You promised. Goddess-dammit, you _promised._ ”

Another glance down to where Felix’s hands were pressed to the gaping holes in Sylvain’s torso proved there was no way he’d be able to get a healer over in time. Even if there was a healer here _now_ , Felix wasn’t sure if they’d be able to save him. It was already a miracle he was still breathing. _Fuck._

They had promised to live together until they died together. He wasn’t sure if Sylvain even remembered the pact, but that didn’t give him the right to break it. Not now. Not yet.

Sylvain stared up at the sky. It was a blanket of washed out shades of grey, the overhead sun dimly piercing through. He wanted nothing more than to let his eyes slip shut and fall asleep, but he knew that if he did, that was it. Sylvain supposed this wasn't such a bad way to go. His only regret was that he'd always been too cowardly to tell Felix how he really felt... but that didn't matter. It's not like it was requited anyways. 

Felix... Felix, Felix Felix. His closest friend since their childhood. Felix was always there, whether beside Sylvain or beside his thoughts. Even as he lay here dying, his only thought was Felix. Sylvain had given flowery confessions of love to dozens of girls, and talked to girlfriends he barely knew with the ease of one who'd been them their whole life. Funny how the one person he couldn't confess to was the one he'd known the longest. 

Sylvain let out a weak chuckle that quickly turned into a cough. His mouth filled with the tang of iron, and he felt blood dribble out of his mouth. He'd seen too many people fall to the imperial army already. The only thing he could do was desperately hope that Felix wasn't among them. Felix... what he wouldn't give to see him one last time. 

Sylvain's vision was starting to blur, and he felt too tired for coherent thought. The copious amounts of blood loss was probably not helping. Trying to ignore the sharp pain in his stomach and the accompanying dull pain in his heart, he sat there staring up into the sky as he waited for his short time in this world to finally come to an end.

He didn't know how much time had passed when suddenly there was someone by his side, taking his face into their hands. _An angel is here to take me,_ his muddled brain thought. It was better than he deserved. 

His abdomen tingled with the familiar warmth of a heal spell, and for a brief moment the pain lessened into an ache. As soon as it ended, the came back into full focus, as if the heal hadn't even happened. Was it so bad that even an angel couldn't help him? Wait, did angels even use earthly spells?

He was dimly aware of a familiar voice saying something, but the sound seemed to fade in and out of his ears. 

"....Syl...can't...ie..."

"...dess....ammit..."

"You...promised..."

Something clicked inside of him. Sylvain blinked once, twice, and the person in front of him came into clarity.

"Felix." Sylvain lifted a hand to cradle Felix's cheek. He gently moved his thumb to brush a stray strand of hair out of Felix's face. Even covered in grime and blood, Felix really was beautiful. He attempted a half smile, but even lifting the corners of his mouth was tiring. "Heh... I know. I'm sorry. I always end up breaking all my promises, don't I?" 

"The one promise I intended to keep... Sorry, Fe. You're gonna have to go on without me."

Felix’s senses had narrowed exclusively to the man before him. If anyone ambushed him from behind, he probably wouldn’t notice until it was much too late.

(He didn’t think he would care.)

Sylvain’s eyes had gained focus. The fact that he was aware of anything at all was astounding, but watching him focus on Felix’s face made the already enormous ache in his chest become deeper. He was so… helpless.

Sylvain blinked a few times, and slowly, recognition bled into his expression, along with something so tender that Felix was almost certain he had been mistaken for someone else.

Until he said Felix’s name.

Eyes wide with shock, he did nothing but stare as Sylvain raised his hand and cupped his cheek. The sensation of his thumb brushing aside a lock of hair spread heat across his face. It was almost _reverent_. Almost as if he was everything to Sylvain; the same way he was everything to Felix.

Watching Sylvain exhaustedly attempt a smile cut deep into his stomach in a way he had never felt before. The apology that managed to reach his expression was the most genuine thing that Felix had seen from him in over a decade.

It hurt.

_The one promise I intended to keep… Sorry, Fe._

The words were weak; defeated. They provoked a desperation to get up and find Mercedes or Flayn, or perhaps attempt another pathetic Heal. Sylvain was awake, looking at him and even talking to him—facts that had him hoping he could still be saved, despite the reality of the two holes in his gut and the blood irrevocably ruining his clothes. Felix could never abandon him here, and it was now registering that he was too exhausted to attempt any more magic; he had practically collapsed onto Sylvain’s lap in his hurry to reach him, and he would have to force himself to get up later.

These realisations gave rise to a rush of anger that Felix held onto tightly, because the alternative was to cry, probably; or panic. “You can’t just say that,” he snarled, gripping Sylvain’s shoulders and smearing his armour red. “You have to live, or I swear to the Goddess, I’ll bring you back to life and kill you again myself.”

Felix had to know what this was. If it was just delirium making Sylvain act the way he was, or if he actually… if he actually loved him.

If Sylvain died now, Felix would never know.

With a harsh breath, he gathered up all the mana he had left in order to send another Heal into Sylvain’s stomach. He forced it to linger for as long as he was physically capable of making it, until he had to brace himself with one hand on the tree beside Sylvain’s head to keep from tipping into his chest. It caused about as much improvement as his first attempt.

Felix's eyes were stinging—fear was beginning to outweigh the anger. What would he do without Sylvain?

"You have to live, or I swear to the Goddess, I’ll bring you back to life and kill you again myself."

That was the Felix he knew and loved, bold and brash to the last. Oh, how much Sylvain wished to say 'okay', then go home with Felix. Maybe leave the army, ditch the Kingdom, find some cozy cabin in the woods and live there in blessed domesticity until they were old and graying. He only allowed himself to entertain the nonsensical thought for a moment; both of them were too loyal to the cause, too loyal to their friends. Neither would allow themselves to leave everything behind.

He wanted to live. He truly did. But he had suffered too much damage, lost too much blood. Sylvain would never make it to a healer in time. Unless the Goddess herself rewound time, he was done for. So he didn't say anything. They both knew that it was never going to happen.

He barely felt the faint tingling in his abdomen, his flesh trying but failing to stitch itself back together. He saw Felix become a bit paler, having to brace himself against a tree. Even in the face of unavoidable death, Felix was still trying. Sylvain's heart swelled with emotion. Sylvain gripped onto Felix's wrist, stopping him from attempting to use Heal again. "Save your energy. Please." he told him. He held Felix's wrist there for a moment, catching the other's eyes. The hurting, fearful gaze that met his own almost broke him.

His hand, still holding Felix's wrist, seemed to drop down of its own accord as Sylvain leaned forwards. Far too much, far too close. His face was now right in front of Felix's, almost touching.

He lingered for a moment, his lips a breadth away from pressing onto Felix's. Though the whole thing happened in less than a few seconds, the moment seemed to stretch on into the horizon. The warmth radiating from Felix, the small puff of breath from slightly parted lips, the inscrutable look in his wide, glossy eyes, glinting bronze from the fires around them. Sylvain knew he was too close, too close to Felix and too close to just coming out with it. I love you, he wanted to say so badly, wanted to close the distance between them and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. But precisely because there was no tomorrow, Sylvain couldn't do that to Felix. He couldn't dump that bundle of emotions onto Felix, then leave him to deal with it alone.

So instead, he leaned past Felix's lips and buried his head in his friend's shoulder instead. 

There he stayed, clinging to Felix like a lifeline, trying to find comfort. To be honest, he had always expected that this would be how he went. Dying young in battle. And it wasn't terrible. He'd given his life for the people that he cared about. He found some sort of dark humour in how life had let him down in so many of his expectations, but not this one.

Contrary to popular belief, there was no light calling for him, guiding him onwards, or cold hands reaching out to drag him down. There was nothing, just the body pressed against his, his own weakening heartbeat pounding in his ears, and the knowledge that he would die in his best friend's arms, breaking their promise.

Sylvain could feel it, his life on its last wings, fluttering on for just a few more moments before it would inevitably fail and fall. He didn't close his eyes and wait for death in the dark like some did. Using his last bit of strength, he pulled back from the embrace so he could look at the person closest to his heart, one last time.

With a trembling hand, Sylvain took Felix's hand and slid off the other man's glove, then intertwined Felix's slender fingers with his own. Felix's grip was steady, warm, the rock that kept Sylvain in place. His pain forgotten and left behind, the only thing he felt at that moment was the warmth at their point of contact.

"Felix..." His tone containing all of the regret and sorrow that had accumulated until this moment, yet still unbearably soft and tender. Trying to convey something that Felix would never know. 

And then he was gone.

Sylvain didn’t reply to his plea for him to live. Felix wasn’t expecting him to. Answering would mean lying, and Felix wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from either crying or lashing out in anger if Sylvain tried to speak again. 

It was just like Sylvain to read his mind, to test that thought by grabbing Felix’s wrist and telling him to stop trying to save him.

His gaze met Sylvain’s for hardly a second before he ducked his head, unwilling to let his best friend see whatever anguish must have been contorting his face. Too much of him wanted to refuse, to summon more strength than he had and channel it into Sylvain until the blood stopped pouring from his stomach and he was able to sit up, to wrap his arms around Felix and assure him genuinely that he was alright.

Sylvain’s hand left his wrist, and as if his glove wasn’t even there, his entire hand suddenly felt freezing cold. Felix looked back up, terrified of finding signs of the little life he had left leaving his body completely, and was met with Sylvain’s face barely inches away from his own.

He wanted to close the distance between their lips. To feel the evidence of the life lingering in Sylvain from the source. He wanted Sylvain’s warmth to cocoon him the way it had always done when he was a child, washing all of his upset away. ‘I love you’ begged to spill from his mouth.

But none of those things could happen. None of them could _happen_ , and yet Felix was frozen in place. He was trapped by the possibility of his lips on Sylvain’s, the terrifying prospect of putting distance between them and seeing the blood pooling between both their legs, and the _need_ to get away.

It was both immensely relieving and horribly startling when Sylvain moved to rest his head on Felix’s shoulder instead. 

He shouldn’t fantasise about kissing Sylvain and having a happy ending right before he died. It was unfair to him. Felix had no way of telling if Sylvain knew what he was doing to him; if he wanted what Felix did, or if he just wanted to comfort him.

Felix scowled again, but at himself, this time—at least in this position, Sylvain couldn’t see his face. This shouldn’t be about him. In return to the head on his shoulder, he buried his face in the gap between Sylvain’s armour and his neck, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His arms wound around Sylvain’s shoulders.

He was waiting with anxious dread for the moment that Sylvain slumped against him lifeless, for the last breath he would release against Felix’s neck, but was surprised again when Sylvain leaned away before it occurred. He reached up with a trembling hand—it felt _wrong_ to see him so weak—and removed Felix’s glove so he could intertwine their fingers. 

“Felix…” Sylvain’s tone was soft. Too soft.

A sob that Felix wasn’t quite able to choke back left his mouth. Sylvain’s expression contained so many things: sorrow, regret, affection, a hint of fear. He died with that look on his face.

Felix would never know the depths of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Syl… Sylvain,” Felix murmured, too quiet to actually be heard. There the man was, right next to him. The only scratches on him were minor and well on their way to healing, if not faded and old. Felix felt breathless. He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry, now that he had the capacity to, or if he was going to punch the dumbass for getting himself stabbed in the gut, not once, but twice. His staring was probably going to earn him a bemused look, but he felt unable to turn away.
> 
> Felix looked… bewildered? It was a funny expression, one that Sylvain didn't think he'd been on the receiving end for before. "Ate something bad? One too many Dagdan ghost peppers?" Felix didn't answer. "Is there something on my face? Leftover lipstick mark?" he joked. He hadn't been playing around as much recently, with all of his time taken up with the incoming battle. However, Felix didn't respond, still staring at Sylvain like he was a ghost come to haunt him straight out of Ashe's books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning with Felix this time! Please note that the horizontal line is a scene change, but the POV stays the same.  
> This chapter is shorter than the last, but we hope you enjoy regardless! <3

Without Sylvain to focus on, the rest of the world bled back in; first in blotches, then all at once.

Right. Felix was on a battlefield where he could be stabbed by an Empire or Alliance soldier at any moment. (He closed his ears to the voice in the back of his head, wondering,  _ what would it matter, with Sylvain dead? _ )

He stood. Glanced down at his blood-soaked clothes. Wiped the tears that had, at some point, made their way down his cheeks. He wasn’t crying anymore. He barely had the energy to  _ think _ , anymore. In front of him, Sylvain lay; without Felix’s support he had slipped off the tree and onto the ground. There was no choice but to leave him, and yet, the concept of turning away stabbed at his chest. So he stood over Sylvain’s form for another moment. He… had to decide if there was anything worth taking. The Lance of Ruin was missing entirely. But Sylvain could be holding onto useful equipment, or items of sentimental value that Ingrid would want back.

His waist brooches were completely ruined. Felix couldn’t think of anything else to take, so he crouched to unfasten them anyway. He needed a moment before he could stand back up again, cradling them in his hands.

Now, he had to turn away. Back to the battle. It didn’t matter that he was a bit tired. He would push through. He forced his gaze off Sylvain’s form, and ignored the wrench of his chest when he began to walk away.

Except—

“Professor?”

The Blue Lions’ former teacher stood at the edge of the treeline, gazing in Felix’s direction. He couldn’t tell what they were looking at until he glanced down and remembered the brooches in his hands. He stopped in front of them, close enough to notice emotion hidden behind their usual blank expression. He wouldn’t let himself decipher what it was.

“Sylvain…”

There was a long pause.

“Dead.” The word was crushing just to  _ say, _ and Felix hated it.

“I’m sorry,” they said, but it didn’t feel like condolences. Not that they should have been giving him condolences about the death of one of their best friends, though it seemed like something they would do anyway. It sounded more like a genuine apology for something they had done wrong, and for that, Felix met their eyes confusedly.

“What—”

“I have to try again,” they whispered, and a magic circle appeared in the air before them.

Felix examined the sigils within it, puzzlement mounting when he recognised the Crest of Gloucester, the Crest of Aubin, the Crest of Fraldarius…

And suddenly he was thrown backwards.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Felix muttered, bewildered. He was back at the exit of that cave—their armed force’s entrance to Gronder Field. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he’d been Warped… but Professor Byleth couldn’t know that spell, otherwise they would make much more use of it. Not to mention, his fatigue had entirely disappeared as well. Moments ago, he had been struggling to walk straight—now, it was as if he had just started his day.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to join forces with the Alliance! We just need to show Professor Byleth to Claude!” Annette was trying to assure everyone, and Felix had to do a double-take at her voice. His vision was strangely out of focus, so he blinked rapidly and lightly shook his head. It seemed to do the trick. What… was everyone doing here? Where were the sounds of clashing blades and screams of pain? What happened to the smoke billowing across the entire field?

Felix surveyed their small army, feeling confusion blend with dread. Everyone was perfectly healthy. They spoke as if the battle had yet to begin. Somehow… Professor Byleth must have rewound time.

Felix didn’t have time to investigate that, though. In moments, the trumpets were going to signal the beginning of their assault.

He was going to make sure that all of his equipment was in order, and that he would prevent the same mistakes, but his eyes caught on Sylvain.

He was  _ alive _ .

“Syl… Sylvain,” Felix murmured. There the man was, right next to him. The only scratches on him were minor and well on their way to healing, if not faded and old. Felix felt breathless. He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry, now that he had the capacity to, or if he was going to punch the dumbass for getting himself stabbed in the gut  _ twice _ .

His staring was probably going to earn him a bemused look, but he felt unable to turn away. He would hate to know what sort of expression was on his face.

  


Sylvain stood with his arm crossed, one foot tapping as Byleth went over their orders one last time. he had been in the war council earlier, even helped formulate some of the strategies, combing over maps under the candlelight and discussing tactics with Byleth late until morning - he'd heard this a thousand times. Sylvain let his gaze wander, before turning to the shorter swordsman next to him, opening his mouth to make some snide joke.

However, as their eyes met, he noticed the strange expression on Felix's face. Felix looked… bewildered? His usual scowl was gone, replaced with glossy wide eyes, mouth clenched into some weird and pained tight line as if he couldn't decide what to say. 

It was a funny look, one that Sylvain didn't think he'd been on the receiving end for before. "Ate something bad? One too many Dagdan ghost peppers?" Felix didn't answer. "Is there something on my face? Leftover lipstick mark?" he joked. He hadn't been playing around as much recently, with all of his time taken up with the incoming battle. However, Felix didn't respond, still staring at Sylvain like he was a ghost come to haunt him straight out of Ashe's books. "Felix, you okay?"

Before Felix had a chance to reply, Byleth shouted something, and everyone began to move. It looked like it was time to take their positions. The tide of moving people around them swept Felix out of his sight. 

Sylvain mounted Bergamot, his great black warhorse, preparing to get her going when the professor's voice rang out.

"Sylvain."

He snapped to attention.

"You and your unit have been reassigned to the right flank. Stick with them."

Sylvain tilted his head, wondering at the validity of that decision. He complied, however, as he didn't feel the need to question the decision. He had his faith in the professor, who always seemed to pull off the impossible even when their odds looked dismal. There was also the odd light in their eye, glinting as if they knew something that he didn't. 

Sylvain nodded his assent, then motioned for his battalion to move. They quickly rode over to the other side, where Felix stood with some other men. Oh, so he was stationed next to Felix. He felt a rush of relief. If he was around the swordsman, it meant that he could protect him. Not that Felix needed protecting, but it was always good to have someone watching his back. And it set Sylvain's heart at ease knowing that his friend was still alive, and knowing that he was near enough to take a hit for Felix if needed. Even if Felix would be angry later, it was always worth it.

Around them, he saw multiple other groups moving as well as if some last-minute reassignments were being made. Felix looked like he'd recovered from whatever had come over him earlier, and Sylvain decided not to press before the battle. He couldn't afford to distract the other or become distracted himself.

"Hey Fe," Sylvain grinned. "Look who's here!"

"Last minute change in plans," Sylvain explained as he neared. "Kinda weird positioning, but the professor's gotten us through this many battles already, haven't they?"

An order was shouted for them to move out. Sylvain felt the familiar rush of anticipation that he always felt before a battle, sending his blood running.

Here, they would meet the Alliance and the Empire on the battlefield.

Here, they'd see old faces… but they already had at the Bridge of Myrddin, hadn't they? The image of someone he'd once taken lessons with, their body crumpled on the ground with a gore covered lance sticking out of their chest was still vivid in his mind. They hadn't shown mercy for the other side then, and they wouldn't now. Sylvain would strike down whoever he needed to without hesitation. Anything to protect his friends. Anything to ensure a future where Felix would be able to live.

"I've got your back, Fe."

The trumpets sounded. The armies began to move, crawling forwards and gaining speed like a massive demonic beast. The relic in Sylvain's hand pulsed a sickening crimson as if sensing the bloodlust in the field. He felt its pull, eagerly urging him to feed it with the bodies of their enemies. He would heed its call.

Sylvain hefted the Lance of Ruin and charged.

  


Felix opened his mouth to insist he was fine, however weakly, but was saved from worrying Sylvain more with an obvious lie when the professor told everyone to take their positions. He had to wrench his gaze away from Sylvain’s living, breathing form in order to walk away towards his battalion.

Sylvain wasn’t the only one back from the dead. All of his troops—from the ones he’d seen die to the ones he had lost track of after Bernadetta was set on fire—were here, perfectly fine. Felix didn’t have the capacity to process that right now, so he busied himself with his equipment.

His bow was probably not going to survive more than about five shots, so it wasn’t worth the extra weight to bring. He had forgotten to grab a better one last time, but there was no way he’d forget now. His swords were sharp and prepared, as expected, though clearly he didn’t have enough, if he’d been able to run out before. He stared down at the two swords strapped to his side, as well as the one in his hand, and frowned. How had he managed to lose them all, anyway? What had made Felix so careless?

He heard Sylvain call out, casually, like he wasn’t about to get himself fucking skewered in an hour’s time, and grit his teeth as he turned to face him.

“Sylvain.”

Supposedly, a change of plans had brought him here. Felix sighed, placing his free hand on his hip. That was essentially a confirmation that Byleth was the one to turn back time.

“They have,” he agreed, at Sylvain’s remark. And it seemed that Felix was the only one aware of *how* Byleth pulled off so many of their amazing feats; how they managed to keep all of their former students alive, despite everything. The answer only raised more questions, but Felix wasn’t bothered to ask Byleth right now. Maybe later, when this battle was over and everyone he cared about came out alive on the other side.

He looked up at Sylvain. The grim, determined look on his face was both mesmerising and a cold reminder of what he had to prevent from happening next.

_ And I’ve got yours, _ Felix wanted to say.  _ I’ll keep you safe, this time. _

What instead left his mouth was, “I know.”

He turned to face the center of Gronder Field. Raised his sword to direct his battalion. With a focused frown, he entered the fray.

  


The battle was horrific. Three sides converging into bloody chaos, making it difficult to differentiate between friend and foe. All Sylvain knew to do was cut down anyone in front of him, and to stay ever by Felix.

Felix cut through the waves of soldiers like a deadly dancer, silver blade flashing in a lethal arc, weaving in and out through throes of enemies and leaving them all dead behind.

Sylvain held his own, watching Felix's back. Every time his lance struck, another enemy fell, torn apart by the deadly spikes that seemed to wiggle in delight as it snuffed out lives. 

Sometime into the battle, they came across the Ashen Demon, cutting their own path through the swathes of empire soldiers. Sylvain caught Byleth's eye, who nodded their greeting. The barest hint of an indecipherable smile came upon their lips as they noticed both Sylvain and Felix, still together, both alive and whole for the most part. Sylvain spared his own smile. Then, the moment passed and they parted ways once more.

They continued fighting. One mounted, one on foot, they moved in perfect tandem as if they were a single destructive unit.

  


Felix’s father was dead. Really dead. No going backwards and undoing what happened.

He had no idea how Byleth’s time-travel ability worked. But when Felix had seen the boar with his head bowed, and his father limp in his arms, the first thing he’d done was look to the former professor. They were beside him, close enough to see what had happened but far enough away to not interrupt.

“Why are you just standing there?” Felix had demanded, furious and fearing the way Byleth looked at him, blank but somehow miserable at the same time. “Do that spell again. Just— bring him back. Like you did with Sylvain.”

Their eyes widened in shock—the most obvious emotion he had ever seen on their face—before they shook their head.

Felix didn’t bother asking for clarification. He simply pushed past them, following the rest of the Kingdom army back to camp.

  


It was a while after the battle had concluded that Sylvain had gotten the news. Rodrigue was dead. Slain by a hidden empire soldier after everyone had left, or at least that was what he had heard. Sylvain had left with his troops soon after the fighting was over, sending the most injured ones off to the healers, but he knew Felix had stayed behind longer than him. His gut churned with worry.

The rumours about Duke Fraldarius had spread through the camp like wildfire, wondering if the news was true and how it could have happened. All around him, soldiers were whispering, but all Sylvain could think about was Felix. He needed to see if Felix was okay. Though he knew Felix and his father weren't close anymore, losing the one remaining member of your family would still be devastating. 

Sylvain combed the entire camp for him, but couldn't catch sight of that familiar head of navy hair anywhere. At least there was no talk about any other major deaths, that way he knew Felix was surely alive. Yet still, Sylvain couldn't stop the feeling of dread growing and crawling all over his insides, taking root in the deepest recesses of his mind. Felix is alive, he assured himself, someone would have told me if it were otherwise. He repeated that in his head like a mantra as he searched.

Sylvain wasn't able to find Felix before they were set to start the trek back to Garreg Mach to recuperate and recalibrate. Mercedes told him that she had spotted him, alive and unharmed for the most part, but had no idea where he went. Sylvain had instantly felt a huge weight rise from his chest. 

This could only mean that Felix didn't want to be found. All Sylvain could do was hope that Felix was okay (as okay as he could be after something like this). He longed to embrace Felix like he had when they were kids, wrapping his arms around the snotty faced child and holding him close until the sobs had faded to sniffles.

As much as Sylvain wished that was the case, he knew Felix was no longer that person. They had both been hardened by what they'd suffered through in the past years, unable to reach out through the hardened ice walls they'd each built around themselves.

So here they were. Brought back beside each other by the reunion of their class, but feeling further away than ever before.


End file.
